Burial at Sea
by MikeLegna
Summary: He couldn't understand how things had happened so fast. It almost felt like a bad dream. But it was real, and it was painful, and there was no way Sam could change things - no matter how much he wanted to. Dean was gone for good. He just didn't expect to stumble on a door that led right into a city - in the bottom of the ocean. [season 12!au; lots of swearing; bioshock!au]
1. The Value of Choice

**_Chapter I.  
_** _ **The Value of Choice**_

 _"We all make choices, but in the end, our choices make us."  
_ ** _\- Andrew Ryan, Bioshock_**

* * *

For the first time in all those years living in there, the silence filling the bunker felt heavy, oppressive. An _almost physical_ reminder that he was, once more, completely alone. Sure, he knew Castiel was still there, still trying to make him feel any better because there was no way the angel would leave his side after everything they've been through, even after all the mistakes and sins they both had commited in the name of 'greater good'. They were some twisted kind of family now, if he cared to remember. They had no one but each other now. Heaven had abandoned Cass. Dean was gone, just as dad and mom and... He sucked in a harsh breath, trying to focus on anything but the burning pain on his chest - but honestly, Sam almost had lost the little self control he had the moment he stepped into the hideout, because nothing else could make Dean's absence so clear than the empty place they were just getting used to call 'home'.

But he had a vague idea of how crushed, how miserable and broken beyond repair he'd feel the moment he looked at the Impala again after the shock had dispersed from his tired brain.

And there was Cass talking, trying to break the silence but it just made the Winchester feel even more at egde. He didn't want to talk right now. He didn't _need_ to, in fact. All he needed in that very moment was a few bottles of the strongest alcohol he could find and then he'd just drown himself in self loathing and pity for some hours... or days, at least. That sounded like a very good plan, _yes sir_.

"Cass, listen-" Sam finally said, cutting whatever emotional crap the angel was trying to say. He really wasn't in the right mood for that, for anything concerning Dean and his death. Because obviously his brother had to play the great hero, because Dean had to save the fucking world again and... he took another deep breath, pushing those thoughts away as quickly as they had slipped into his mind, ignoring the little voice in his head just telling him what he had known for years now. _Your fault it's your fault he's dead because of you again-_ "I know you're trying to help and all, but... not now, okay?"

"Dean asked me to look after you." Castiel said simply, yet there was something hidden in his voice, some kind of disguised pain he had never heard before, that prevented the Winchester from punching him in the face- no matter how much he wanted to do exactly that.

"I know. But I need some time alone."

And for a brief moment he felt some part of his stupid, tired brain scoff at that pathetic excuse of a lie, another one to add to his huge pile of countless lies he had gathered throughout the years, but Castiel didn't comment on it nor tried to change his mind. Sam didn't even try to hold the sigh of relief that escaped his lips as he smiled weakly at the old friend, finally reaching the library. What a foreign feeling it was, that one of not having Dean around once more, of being on his own again. And it was **for good** this time, a part of him decided to remember bitterly. No coming back from Heaven, Hell or Purgatory. Dean was _gone_ , and there was no coming back now. How could've he ever agreed with that? But again, they didn't have many choices to begin with. Sam had sealed their fate the moment he decided to set Amara free.

The memory sent a bitter, poisonous taste up his throat and he forced himself not to choke on the wave of pure guilt that assailed him.

"I could..." The Winchester heard Castiel talking again, his tone careful as if he didn't know what to do around Sam. Funny, because not even the hunter knew what to do around himself now. "Go back to field. Check if there's any trail of Lucifer around. It's almost certain that Amara... ended him, but we have to be 100% sure. Are you sure you'll be fine?"

 _No, I won't._ "Of course, Cass. You've got a good plan."

Sam didn't mention the fact that his new plan was to drink himself into a probable coma. Castiel could always give him a lecture later but man, was he decided to empty the bunker's entire alcohol stock in that single night if it was be humanly possible. He just wanted to forget that Dean was dead. He wanted to forget all the lies he had said and all the pain he had caused because he was _so damn tired_ of screwing everything up. Of being a real screw up, a **monster** \- just like Dean had called him before. And looking back at everything he had done, all the damage he had caused in the name of a brother _he_ had killed, how could someone call him anything but a monster? How could he dare to call himself _human_ yet, when it was more than obvious he had crossed the human line a long time ago?

A shuddered sigh, something so pathetic that almost sounded like a broken sob, echoed on the library before Sam had enough time to understand it was just _him_ making such miserable noises. Fortunately he was alone again, and he couldn't be more glad that Castiel wasn't around - because some part of his useless mind was still trying to preserve whatever little dignity was left on him. The other part simply didn't give a fuck about anything happening around him in that moment. It was just _so hard_ to understand Dean wasn't coming back anymore. It shouldn't be like this. And the hunter decided to move into the kitchen before he got too lost on his depressing thoughts. Better drown himself in self pity while he was downright drunk.

Never before the bunker looked so **overwhelming**. The silence, the emptiness, the guilt gnawing at his very insides... it was just _too much_. His feet, however, decided to move against his will and he just noticed something was wrong the moment his fingers curled around the doorknob of the room that once belonged to Dean. Honestly, it'd bring him only memories and scents and... everything he wanted to forget at once. Yet the Winchester caught himself turning the knob and pushing the door open, looking at the empty room that he'd never dare to step in again. Sam swallowed back the huge, uncomfortable knot stuck in his throat, trying not to break down right there and right now.

He should remember that maybe Lucifer was still out there, wreaking havoc, that there was no guarantee Amara had killed him for good. They've never been that lucky. If the fallen angel was still walking on Earth, they had to find a way to kick the devil's ass back to Hell as soon as possible, and they couldn't do it if Sam wasn't in his best shape. _There'll always be time to mourn later_ , Dean would've said. Not that Sam was good at following his older brother's advices, had never been. So he closed the door, pretended not to feel the hot tears streaming down his face shamelessly and finally forced himself to go the kitchen. Everything was on the exact spot Dean had left them _(_ _ **Dean**_ _'s kitchen, it's always been his, not Sam's)_ and hell, the younger Winchester felt like never touching any of those things, just as he'd do with his brother's room.

The only thing that wouldn't be safe from his trembling hands was the liquor cabinet, and he found it _a bit too_ quickly.

He got drunk a bit too quickly, too. Not that it really mattered.

 _That's the whole point_ , Sam thought.

Clinging at his third _(or maybe it was fourth, but he couldn't really tell)_ bottle of scotch, he decided to move somewhere way more comfortable than the kitchen's cold floor. His hands still trembled, and for a moment his legs refused to sustain his entire weight but he finally stood up, breathing slowly through tears. It was _pathethic_ , he knew - but he couldn't help it. Dean was just gone and there was nothing to do. No deal would ever bring him back, and God had just... left again. How was he supposed to deal with it? What was he supposed to do now? And then, just like that, the first notes of an old fashioned tune started echoing on the empty Bunker. Sam frowned, head moving towards the noise. Maybe he was drunker than he had thought. That would be a good explanation. For a second, he wondered if smacking his head against the closest wall would help him to pass out right there- and the tune melted into some happier, louder song.

"What the... Cass?"

No answer. He shouldn't be as surprised as he felt.

His hand flew to the gun on his pocket, the bottle long forgotten on the table. Someone had just entered the Bunker and _how was it even possible_? No one else had the key, Dean was dead, Cass wasn't around... and he was drunk. Oh well. As if he had anything else to lose. The Winchester half sobbed, half laughed and finally decided to throw all caution out of the window. If something was there to end him, so be it. He followed the song slowly, moving down through a corridor they almost didn't use for all those years they'd been living in the Bunker. There were locked rooms everywhere around that place, keys nowhere to be found, and those which were open only held countless _dangerous_ items the Men of Letters had collected in their time. Maybe something had just escaped a box. It wouldn't be the first time, really... wouldn't be that hard to put it back, too. A soft, frustrated sigh left his lips as he located the room he had been looking for. One of those damned locked doors.

"Of course."

Because he _couldn't_ have some few hours of peace of mind.

Even so, he grabbed the doorknob just to give it a try, just to be sure anything would leave the room anytime soon- and to his surprise, it trummed under his fingers with pure power, unsettling and _agonizing_. Before he could step away the door slid open easily, as if it'd never been locked for the past 60 years or so. The music was louder and the words were clearer now, and for a few seconds Sam swore he had heard a couple of different voices, laughing and chatting as if it was completely normal. His eyes scanned the entire door, filled with ancient symbols he didn't recognize. Old, powerful magic, maybe. Something Rowena could talk about, if he felt like asking. Maybe he should... It was time to go back and check. Even so, no matter what he did, his fingers refused to let go of the doorknob, and the hunter felt his breath hitching in blind, stupid, _drunk_ panic. What in heaven's name was going on now? He finally released the cursed thing, and just when he believed he had managed to step away of the magical door, the noises and voices engulfed him completely. Pure dread filled his entire, tall body at the sudden change.

For a long, painful second, Sam closed his eyes and forced not to listen.

It was just a trick. He was too drunk, his mind was spinning and he just needed a long night of sleep and everything would be okay-

A loud, creepy laughter echoed right at his side and he jumped away as if Lucifer was right in front of him once more, heart beating **too fast** against his ribcage as his eyes fell on some kind of vending machine with a damned clown painted all over the thing. His breath got stuck on his throat as he stepped back, as far as he could from the cursed thing- and then felt himself hitting something, _someone_. He turned slowly, hands pocketing the gun long before his mind followed his movements. It was just too much to comprehend, _too much_ -

"Hey! You okay, pal?" He had stumbled on a man. He was small, with a friendly, almost concerned face. His clothes, though... it seemed the kind of clothing his grandfather would've used during his adulthood. Too outdated. Sam simply gulped back whatever words dancing on his tongue, not trusting himself to say anything at that point. He needed to find out what the hell was going on, find a way back home and... "You look like you've seen a ghost or somethin'."

"I... S-something, I guess."

"You new around here, huh? Never seen your face before." The man just laughed, and the Winchester could do nothing but nod. He had no idea where 'here' was. He needed to think clearly, to pull a plan out of his pockets just like any other normal hunt and that'd be it. He'd be home sooner than later, he knew it. "I know how it feels. Livin' in a freakin' city at the bottom of ocean makes us all a little shaky at first."

Wait, _what_?

"What?"

But the man just patted his shoulder in a friendly gesture and left without another word.

Hazel eyes fixated on a newspaper vendor resting at the right side of the creepy machine, and he approached it **_too fast_**.

 _Rapture Tribune_.  
 _December 02, 1958_.

Later, he'd blame all the liquor he had drank for passing out in that right moment.

* * *

 _*snickers at stupid summary and not so subtle title* the hell am I doing... Well thank you for taking your time to read! This crossover had been bothering me for a while now, so I decided to write it down for good. First of all, lemme apologize for any typos or whatever you may find on your way. English isn't my first languague but I swear I'm doing my best here! ;v;_

 _Second, I'm deeply sorry if anyone looks a bit OOC. It's been years since I wrote something and Bioshock isn't exactly fresh in my mind either. For those who had never played this masterpiece, there'll be a lot of spoilers. Proceed with caution._

 _Furthermore, just kick back, relax and enjoy the story. See you on the next chapter!_


	2. Another Ark for Another Time

_**Chapter II.  
** **Another Ark for Another Time**_

 _"I believed in this place. I believed in Ryan. But when it got hard, Ryan didn't believe in Rapture._  
 _Didn't believe in the Great Chain. He believed in power."_  
 _ **\- Anya Andersdotter**_

* * *

He was stupid. He shouldn't have drunk so much at the Bunker that night and he _knew_ it. He was a Winchester, for crying out loud. His luck was almost non existent and it was obvious something would happen ( _and it'd always be happening **sooner** than later, because Lady Fate was a downright bitch who hated him more than anyone else_ ). The Bunker was filled with every kind of magic ( _or cursed_ ) item known to man and why, why did he even decide about dealing with some supernatural shit when he couldn't barely walk without stumbling into a wall or coffee table on his way? There was no good answer and Sam was too tired to think about something that could be used as a good excuse. It had been a stupid decision, that's all. He could regret it as much as he liked, it wouldn't change the fact he was still trapped in some underwater city settled in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

In _1958_.  
He was just few minutes away from 1959, if he cared to think about some unimportant details.

He had been stuck in that place for almost a month already and he had found nothing useful but some weird people whose size of ego would match Lucifer's in a fair fight. At least the Devil would know how to get out of that crab trap. Someone who had spent an eternity trapped in Hell could easily destroy a city that was only two steps away from chaos and mayhem. It'd be child's play, honestly... Sam scoffed. The fallen archangel would most likely drown the Wincester along with Rapture instead of helping him. As if one could expect anything else. Why would Sam expect something else from Lucifer after everything they've been through? And well, it wasn't like the Devil was still alive and walking on Earth again. Amara had been... _destructive_.

For more than one family, his mind decided to remind him.  
A soft sigh escaped his lips at the bitter memory of Dean's death.

He could think about it later, much later. Now, a Little Sister crossed his way all of sudden and he backed away into the shadows under a giant plumb, pretending not to see or feel the huge, _moving diving suit_ following her. The thing just passed by and didn't even glance at his spot, and Sam let out a breath he didn't notice he had been holding until now. As much as he hated those creatures. he still didn't have a death wish - not now when he had decided to find a way to crawl out of that god forsaken hole. Yet it didn't mean he'd ever get used to such a sight. A _little girl_ being guarded by some kind of **monster**. No matter how times he'd seen them, it always made his hunter instincts go crazy - but he had no weapons and no idea how to kill those things. People have said the girls were past salvation now, too filled with plasmids to go back at being human. They were as monstrous and twisted as the Big Daddies protecting them.

It just made him feel worse for doing nothing to save them.  
It made him wonder what else was hidden under the whole 'utopia' façade, what else was rotting and dying away under Andrew Ryan's empty promises of a marvelous life.

He sighed.

Rapture had been an interesting place at first. The whole idea of a perfect utopia, a free market society that ruled itself had been appealing. It seemed to _work_. But there was something completely different happening behind the curtains. The lower leves of the city held an entire different society, as deformed and ugly as the Little Sister he had just met. Fontaine's scheme ran smoothly, freely down there. _Parasites_ smuggling **plasmids** all around Rapture right under Ryan's nose and even if everyone claimed Fontaine dead and all his comrades gone for good, Atlas was still out there doing whatever he wanted. It was only a matter of time until he escaped the 'prison' and boy, was Sam doing his best not to interfere and get himself killed because of his stupid bravery. Sometimes it was too hard to remember he was in the past, in a time he wasn't even born - but he wanted to help, even if he knew it'd be completely useless.

 _What's done is done_ , a little voice that didn't belong to him whispered in his mind. _What's done **will** be done._

Another sigh.  
It was official. He did hate time traveling more than anything else.

Somewhere up the halls, a clock struck midnight. January 01, 1959.

The first explosion seemed to shake the entire Rapture.  
The second one sent him flying down the stairs, and then everything went dark.

* * *

There were a few things Dean Winchester didn't expect from his last encounter with Amara, the fucking _Darkness_ herself, in flesh and bone.

For starters, he had walked out of that 'friendly meeting' alive and in one piece. That was way more than he had planned. Hell, he was ready to die for the world ( _again always the martyr always dying for someone else_ ) and he ended up with a prize for best family counselor of the year and-

And his _mother._  
Alive, healthy, breathing. As beautiful as he remembered.

It had been a great couple of days, to be honest. He fussed over her as much as he could during their trip back to the Bunker, clinging and touching and just needing to be sure _she was real she was there_. She wasn't going anywhere soon. They'd be a family again ( _they were already a family but this was different Mom is here_ ), even if John wasn't there anymore. They got Mom, and it was okay. Sammy would be so happy. He'd probably be a lot more clingy than Dean himself, and it was okay because for fuck's sake, only Chuck and Amara knew how much they needed some peace of mind, some good rest from the supernatural and all the evil in that damned world. The kid had been through so much already. They both had. Armaggedon, Lucifer, Amara, demons, angels... they just needed time to heal and recharge. Was it **too much** to ask?

Apparently it was, because when they finally got in the Bunker, when they finally stepped into his- their home, it was strangely empty and quiet. Dean's warning bells rang loudly, all at once. Sam should be there. He had been gone for two days, at most- and maybe he should've called to let Sammy know he was alive and going home, but the older brother had been too excited over the wonderful news to remember such an important detail. His baby brother would forgive him for it, that was for sure. As soon as he found Sam, of course.

"Sammy?"

No answer.  
A chill ran down his spine, something that had nothing to do with the cold.

Something just felt... wrong, _out of place_.

"Lucy, I'm home!"

"Maybe he went out to... eat something?" Mary said softly, almost like she was choosing her words carefully. "He'll be back soon."

She was still shaken, scared. He could understand it. It couldn't be easy to come back from the dead 33 years later, couldn't be easy to see that her little boy had turned into a grown up man, but in that very moment he couldn't bring himself to care too much. Sam wasn't there. **That** was important. The Bunker had been their home for years now, they had nowhere else to go so _where was his brother_? Maybe Mom was right and Sammy had just gone to the nearest restaurant to grab those salad things he loved so much, yet there was this feeling that Dean couldn't just shake off. The kitchen was at full stock, they had plenty of food in there. Maybe Sam just needed some fresh air after everything...

Yet something was wrong, he knew it. And he also knew he could trust his instincts.  
It took him no more than ten minutes to find out he was right.

Sam _should_ be in the Bunker. His cellphone had been left on the Map Room. There was an opened bottle of scotch on the kitchen, half consumed- and by the mess Sammy had done all over the place, there was no way he wouldn't have finished that one too. He'd have finished the entire stock, actually. That was what Dean would've done if he were on Sammy's shoes. Even so, the rooms were empty, the Impala was parked on the same spot as before and everything seemed to be in its place- everything but his baby brother. Because it was obvious they couldn't get a few days of some peace of mind, because it seemed they hadn't done enough already, hadn't sacrificed enough.

 _Fuck this._

He didn't listen to Castiel's excuses as he called the angel, he didn't want to know what Cass had been doing, what was more important than look out for Sam. He didn't _care_. He tried not to, at least.

All he needed in that moment was to find his brother.  
He could deal with everything else later, much later.

* * *

"He asked me to be alone, Dean."

"I don't care if he asked you to kill the Queen of England. You should be here!" Dean took a moment to gather his thoughts- and get his anger under control. He should focus on the problem, should treat it as any normal hunt ( _because fuck, Sam seemed to attract problems everywhere he went_ ) and deal with it as easily as any other job. It didn't mean Cass wouldn't escape him this time. "You promised me, Cass." And the hunter was well aware of the pure feeling of betrayal lacing his voice, and he did notice the moment the angel flinched as if he had been hit. "I _trusted_ you, and now he's gone."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry won't bring him back."

"You said Sam didn't leave the Bunker, right?" And there was no way Dean would admit he almost jumped at Mary's voice. She was still there, trying to help, looking strangely calm for such a situation they all found themselves in. God, he _loved_ that woman. A soft smile curled on his lips and he nodded, not sure of her trail of thought. "So it means he's still here somewhere. Isn't there some... magic items all around the place or something?"

"Sam knows-"

"I'm sure he does." Well she knew how to shut him up in a second, but despite her voice being stern, her features were gentle and understanding. "But by all the bottles I've seen in the kitchen..."

"Mary's right." Castiel just replied what Dean was thinking in that right moment. Creepy angel... "Sam was too drunk to know or care about what to touch or not. I think I can track down the last magical item triggered. It's a start."

The hunter just nodded once more, trying not to think about whatever Sam had done.  
He just hoped his baby brother was fine and breathing.

"So, what are you waiting for? Just do it."

It wasn't fair to have Mom back only to lose Sam. He couldn't do it.  
Oh the irony. He had just asked Sammy to accept he'd be gone for good this time. Maybe that was his punishment.

"We'll find him, Dean." Mom said.

And God, Dean wished he could believe her.

* * *

 _ **I'll never get tired of the pronoun game. It's too exciting. However, thank you for reading until this point. It means a lot to me! Comments are appreciated, but oh well, I'm just glad you're here. I might take a while to bring you the next chapter but I promise I won't disappear. So thank you and see you later!**_


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